


Touch So Soft, Love So Hard

by Anastazja_is_out, PjCole



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom! Bruce Banner, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, Feminization, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Restraints, Rimming, Top! Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 06:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18230891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anastazja_is_out/pseuds/Anastazja_is_out, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PjCole/pseuds/PjCole
Summary: “Yeah?” The hand on Bruce’s cheek is firm, slips down to get a hold on his jaw and tilt him back up as Tony moves to one knee. They still aren’t eye to eye, but they could kiss easily if Bruce shifted up a little. The water is slowly rising, flowing around Bruce’s shoulders now and he loves Tony so very much. So much more than he ever thought people could love each other. It’s ridiculous, it’s juvenile, and if he could take a moment to stop feeling all this swirling desperate love he would make fun of himself for it.





	Touch So Soft, Love So Hard

**Author's Note:**

> This took a real effort to finally finish, but I am actually extremely happy with the end result. Endless thanks to my artist for the challenge Anastazja_is_out for being so patient and easy to work with when I ended up finish this, literally at the possible minute of my extended deadline. Also, endless thanks to my lovely girl [ Kitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbaddonsLittleWItch) for doing some last second beta work. You were so fucking encouraging and really I wouldn't have finished it without you. (Nor included the lovely rimming section)

Bruce stands in the shower, face down and eyes trained on the swirl of the water as it flows down the drain. It seems silly to be nervous, to feel this keyed up over such simple instructions, over something they’ve done so many times now. Yet, every nerve ending seems braced for some kind of impact, coiled tight and throbbing in the anticipation. He feels too full for his body, but in a way so completely different than the moment before Hulk takes over. The coiling is pleasant, the spontaneous firing of his nerves is accompanied by a kind of languidness to his thoughts. His mind is hazing around the edges, relaxing with each swirl of the water around his feet. 

It always comes back to this moment when he really thinks about their relationship. This between time, before it all starts, when he is poised on the edge of being an island unto himself and belonging only to Tony. The name sends another zing down his neck, through his arms and all the way to his toes. The decision he will make when he enters their room, unlocks the door to their large oak armoire is something he never thought he would get. Even before Hulk and the disasters that followed. 

He liked Tony the moment they met, even if he came off a bit over the top and in some ways completely crazy. Tony looked at him, really looked, and didn’t think how he could be used, what kind of threat he posed. If anything Tony saw him as something fascinating, something to analyze and understand, but not because of Hulk. Well, not _just_ because of Hulk. Tony wanted to know him, wanted to understand his mind the way people used to before. And Bruce wanted that just as much, maybe even more so, because Tony Stark is the kind of genius that only happens once every hundred years, every thousand even. Tony is beyond someone that could finally speak Bruce’s language. Tony is someone that wants to create a new language for only them and then wake up and create another one every morning. Tony is someone that will push and pull Bruce to a potential beyond anything he could accomplish on his own. 

Tony is someone Bruce could fall into over and over. 

Of course that revelation came later, but the feeling, the initial tug, all started with the first meeting. From there it all became a wave. One moment Bruce was surrounded by people who wanted to use him for his greatest weakness, the next they were fighting an alien army and the next he was living in a partially demolished tower with one of the world’s brightest minds. Somehow that became this, this bright glowing ball in Bruce’s chest; this tight, lovely feeling that jams up under his left rib and sucks all the air from his lungs. 

It started like most things with Tony do, out of nowhere and completely inevitable. They were sitting in the entertainment room of Tony’s penthouse a few weeks after the final reconstruction was finished, talking about Tony’s latest suit upgrade. It felt just like every other night, just another piece in the habit they were creating. Bruce felt talkative, felt open to sharing some of his thoughts on the latest upgrades and his own work. He ended up spending a full fifteen minutes giving Tony a more intensive course on thermonuclear astrophysics than he ever would have found in any SHEILD paperwork or published articles. He’d been so invested in one particular train of thought that he didn’t notice Tony moving closer until he looked up and realized they were nearly nose to nose. Everything halted, he forgot what he was saying, what he was thinking, who he even was for a second. The look in Tony’s eyes was so intense, so focused on him that all the air in the room seemed to stagnate around them. 

“You look beautiful when you talk like this.” Tony said, low and soft, gravel dragging at the edges of his voice. Bruce felt caught, fused to the space between Tony’s piercing gaze and the leather couch at his back. Yet, there was no anger, no thundering heartbeat or graying around the edges that usually signified a fight or fight harder response from him. Instead he felt still, waiting like he could continue to do so for the rest of his life if only Tony would keep looking at him. He met those deep brown eyes and never wanted to look away. He felt desired and _beautiful_ ; he nearly shook with it. 

“I want to kiss you.” Tony said and Bruce could only nod, could only lean forward and tilt his chin up in preparation. Bruce still remembers the exact way Tony’s eyes softened just the smallest amount before he’d lent forward, can still feel the soft brush of his lips in their gentle meeting. 

Before that moment Bruce hadn’t realized he wanted this, hadn’t realized this beautiful thing between them was something he could _allow_ himself to want. Now, it is all he wants, it is everything he wants. It distracts and focuses him, it calms and rattles, it is the center of his life and yet never feels overbearing. He feels more alive in every aspect of his life now that Tony is such a core part of it. 

Nothing happened that night, but it started something precious and sweet between them. Tony would kiss him suddenly in the middle of kitchen or after he finished a project, would hold his hand when they watched a movie together. Slowly Bruce felt himself initiating the same things, found himself dropping his head to Tony’s shoulder when they were standing or sitting close. He started to yearn for more, started to press deeper into every kiss, pulled Tony closer and closer until nothing but their clothes stood between them. 

Yet, everytime Tony would start to remove that barrier Bruce would jump back, would force himself to steady his breath and apologize, make up some thing about wanting to take it slow. And Tony was perfect about it at first, would just smile and kiss Bruce on the nose, tell him “We’ve got all the time in the world, beautiful.”

Still it ate at him, this elephant in the room, this bumbling desire that inched too close to fear, too close to anger. Weeks passed and Bruce could feel the tension in Tony’s shoulders when Bruce was straddled over his hips and trying to melt their lips together with just pressure and saliva. He could feel the way Tony would pull back just the littlest bit every time he brushed the edge of Bruce’s shirt collar, like it took all his will power to do it. And he felt the disappointment build and build in his own belly every time he pulled away from their kissing too soon.

He’d wanted Tony in a way that went beyond carnal desire. He wanted to make Tony happy, wanted to make him sigh and smile, wanted to have Tony look at him with all his focus and feel as beautiful as he did when Tony first kissed him. He wanted to know Tony in every way, wanted to know him better than either of them knew themselves. 

But, he couldn’t. If he ever hurt Tony... 

Well, sometimes Bruce still worries about it, still wakes up panting and running to the far corner of the room because he can feel the rippling green flowing across his skin. Some nights, right after a battle or a week of nightmares, he will sleep on the couch instead, trapped by the fear of anything happening to his Tony. Sometimes he will still back off from Tony’s kisses too soon because anger is just so close to passion. 

It all came to a head nearly two months into their relationship. Tony had been away for a week, some business in Japan, and Bruce had never missed someone so fiercely. He’d almost asked to come along when Tony’d announced the trip, but couldn’t bring himself to do it and still insist on sleeping in separate rooms. So he’d stayed and wallowed and thought about how this was likely to be his everyday life at some point. Tony would only stay satisfied for so long, hell, Bruce would only be able to get part of what he wanted for so long, too. He always hated Hulk, but knowing he would lose Tony without ever really having him pushed it to a whole new level. 

Still, he resolved to end things when Tony came back. It felt unnecessarily cruel to do it over the phone. He owed it to the man, owed it to the blossoming feeling he couldn’t name to do it face to face. It hurt, just thinking about it hurt in such a visceral way that he spent nearly every night of their separation up into the wee hours of the morning. 

Bruce shakes his head away from the thought, takes a second to come back into the present moment. The blank shower fall stares back at him as he blinks both the memory and the water out of his eyes. He turns away from the faucet, steps out so his face is no longer directly under the water. Tilting his head back, he reaches up and brushes fingers through his hair to make sure all the shampoo is washed out. He reaches out for the body wash and his green loofah, which he still can’t help but shake his head at. Tony’s red and gold one sits next to it and really that man is such a dork sometimes. There is an actual professional painting of Hulk and Iron Man side by side in Tony’s workshop for god’s sake.

That resolution to end things is nearly two years in the past now and looking back at it Bruce can really see it for all it’s silliness now. Then though, well, he’d still been afraid of Hulk in a lot of ways. Still been blindingly angry at the other guy and ready to blame him for just about everything wrong in their life. He still had a weariness for it all, but now he trusted Hulk to fight alongside the love of his life, to keep Tony safe where Bruce couldn’t. Some of that trust bled over into knowing Hulk would only come out when he was needed, that Bruce would _let_ him out. 

It was all Tony’s idea, his refusal to let Bruce slip through his fingers. His dedication. And wasn’t that just Bruce’s favorite thing about him. He’d let Bruce get through his entire ‘I don’t think I can make this work’ speech, stood and took it and listened. Then he sat them both down, held Bruce’s hand like it was fragile and precious, and asked. For so little in retrospect, just a little trust and one more try. In the moment, Bruce remembers almost refusing, almost denying that soft, vulnerable look in Tony’s deep brown eyes. Whatever it was that stopped him, he still isn’t sure, but he thanks that little piece of him everyday. The gruff voice in the far recesses of his mind telling him, just nod, just do this one last thing. _We deserve a little happiness_. 

The first time was simple, just a few commands from Tony, soft hands kneading into the tense muscles of his shoulders and back, a whisper to relax and let go. It worked, though, took Bruce to a quite soft place where he really stopped being angry for just a few hours, swallowed his grief and resentment and just let his body feel. And Tony, god, did he glow like that. Shine brighter than the stars in the sky when he looked down at Bruce kneeling on the floor and called _him_ beautiful. Like, somehow, someway, he wasn’t the single most stunning thing that ever existed. 

Bruce smiles, rinses the memories off along with the soap and watches them all swirl slowly into the drain. It took them time, took a lot of back and forth and some times when Bruce just couldn’t do it, when Tony was angry about his own things and couldn’t provide. They found their rhythm though, found the list of kinks and safewords and hard limits. Now, it’s all so stunningly simple, Bruce wonders how he didn’t just sprout into existence right here. 

He turns off the water then, takes a moment to just breathe, feel the way the calm air is creeping into him already. This was one of the first few things they’d worked out, their own separate time to prepare for a scene. It gives Bruce time to reflect and sort through anything that will keep him too focused on the outside world and gives Tony time to ‘savor the anticipation’. At least in his words. Really, Bruce knows it takes a moment for Tony to do the same things, to let his mind center and calm. 

It makes that first glance they share, makes the entire thing, so much more intense. The decision, the purposeful choice to do this rings heavy in the air the moment Tony first looks at him and that, that right there is all Bruce craves most days. 

The bathroom is warm, but not humid, regulated perfectly by Tony’s AI. Seeing his face in the unfogged mirror used to get to Bruce, but now he just smiles a little at himself and reaches for his green towel. (Again, Tony. Always Tony fucking Stark). It’s plush and large enough to cover Bruce from chin to knee, which he relishes in for a long moment. He is dripping on to the heated tile, sees the water pool and evaporate and can’t help but grin brighter at the luxury of it all. 

It doesn’t take much time to dry himself off, to run a comb through his already curling hair. He brushes his teeth next, thoroughly, relishing the methodical back and forth over each tooth. The mouthwash makes his gums tingle a bit and it’s so insane that something this mundane gets his heartbeat quickening. Tony had told him to be thorough and Bruce always listens, takes out a string of floss and makes sure to get every tooth. 

There is something so intoxicating about getting himself so spectacularly clean, rubbing the canvas of his body smooth and fresh. Blank and wide open to be marked and covered in all the things Tony wants from him. It lights up his chest, catches his breath under his ribs and holds it there too long. The feeling is too soft to be called excitement, but the bubbling quality of it is rather reminiscent of roller coaster peeks. 

His old clothes are already several floors down, chucked through the laundry shoot by the door when he first came in here. The amount his mind has settled since then is almost alarming; he can only barely recall what experiment he’d been running over at the time. It’ll be there when they are done, though, so he doesn’t dwell on it. Just opens the bathroom door and makes his way, nude, to the large closet doors on the other side of the room. He wonders if Tony is watching the security feed now and feels a warm chill run down his body at the thought. He’s never been good at being enticing, but he does sway his hips a bit more just in case. The only reason the closet isn’t next to the bathroom is because Tony likes to watch Bruce walk the length of their bedroom like this, because Bruce can admit to enjoying the same thing from Tony. 

The closet is normal by all appearances, massive but filled with all you’d expect of a billionaire and a man that fights regularly for said billionaire to stop buying him clothes. However, for all the large oak armoire on the farthest wall seems perfectly in place and unassuming, the sight of the brass key in it’s lock makes Bruce’s pulse jump. The key isn't something Tony keeps from him, isn’t even something that is all that necessary since Tony set up a line to JARVIS for the lock in question. Bruce knows both the code and exactly where Tony keeps the ornate key. He can go through this wardrobe at any time of day or night and not even have to tell Tony about it. 

He’s never once opened it without Tony putting the key in the lock. 

For a moment, he just stays, standing at the entryway and gazing at the unspoken order. He went straight to the bathroom after getting Tony’s instructions via text, so he can’t know when Tony came in to insert the key. Part of him hopes it was while he was in the shower, while he was cleaning himself inside and out, readying his body for Tony. Again he wonders if Tony is watching the security feed, hopes he is, that he can see the way Bruce’s legs tremble a bit. 

This is the side of it that Bruce really didn’t see coming, for all he didn’t see any bit of this relationship coming. The fact that he has an entire armoire for just these occasions isn’t the surprising part; Tony spends money on other people like his only purpose in life it to shower those he cares for in gifts and trinkets. No, the amount is perfectly reasonable. It’s all the lovely things in that oak chest, the fierce love Bruce has for each item that still shocks him sometimes. 

When they first started, back even to that first kiss, Bruce knew he liked Tony calling him beautiful. He didn’t think much of the reasons, just basked in the happy glow the word made him feel. Tony though, he needled it, wispeared it into the crook of Bruce’s neck when he pressed into him and catalogued the exact increase in his breathing. He called him more things, slowly inched and prodded at the core of Bruce until nothing was a secret, nothing was unknown and Bruce never once thought to stop him. Because, well, Tony meant all of them. Tony was so sincere when he stroked the top of Bruce’s bare thigh and told him ‘you are lovely, so pretty for me’. Tony means it every single time he stops mid thrust to run a hand up Bruce’s chest and say ‘you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

It takes a deep shuddering breath, two actually, to get his feet moving again. He trails his hand along the soft silk of Tony’s dress shirts as he walks, snags a deep red sleeve and worries the wrist button for a moment. Tony went into the R&D offices today, but he came home around lunch time and spent a few hours in his workshop so he wouldn’t be wearing something this nice. Which, today, would be good. There were times when Bruce went all out, wore something expensive and elaborate specifically because he knew Tony would come in looking like a wet dream walking. Tonight though, he didn’t want to feel sultry or coquettish. He always wanted to look lovely for Tony, but something about his earlier musings made him feel soft. Made him think of the simple beginnings and long for that easy ebb and flow.

He drops the sleeve and finally makes it to the dark oak doors, puts a hand on the key before he can stall more by tracing the ornate word working of the piece. He’s felt them so many times, could map the curves of it exactly with his eyes closed. He’s settled already, skirting the edge of that wonderful place Tony helped him find. So, he turns the key, uses its fine brass handle to pull open one door then the other, gently. 

It is less crowded in here than the rest of the closet, but several times more colorful. For all Tony wears some wild things, his side is mostly deep royals and fine greys. Bruce’s is more earthy and for all there is a wide swath of purple and blue, much of it is muted. In here though, it is all pastel and bright colored leather. Blues and greens and pinks, so many pinks. In some other time, Bruce may have worried about that, twisted the dichotomy of his hairy arms and chest with the delicate rosy lace and thin cotton candy stockings. Now though, the color just smooths the tension in his shoulders, relaxes his stance and hazes his vision in a delicate hue. 

Tony loves him in pink. The first pair of panties he ever asked Bruce to wear were baby pink with fragile little bows at the top of each hip seam. For all he is grateful now that Tony gave him that request outside of a scene, he remembers desperately wishing to be in subspace at the time. Longing for the easy acceptance to break through the knee jerk reaction to sneer and refuse. If not for Tony’s frantic back tracking and long incoherent babbling speech about the idea, Bruce might just have shut this off right there. The only thing he is more thankful for than forcing that ‘yes’ out, is meeting Tony and sometimes, those things feel more equal than anything. 

He sees the pair, third in a neat row of folded panties. It’s been a long time since he choose those ones, nearly 7 months since their first anniversary. He’d worn them the entire day after letting Tony help him into them that morning.

They are still perfectly soft, a little loose in the front from being stretched by his erection so many times, but the thin thong strap is still a snug pressure against his hole. He adjusts them so the bows lay exactly on the divot of his hip bones, takes a sappy moment to grin down at them like old friends. He catches a glimpse of a matching cotton mini skirt, a simple pleated thing with a thick waistband and hidden hem line. It’s something Tony bought weeks ago, but Bruce hasn’t gotten a chance to wear it yet. The color match is too perfect to not be purposeful and Bruce grins as he steps into it. On hangers are a collection of brassieres and lacy babydoll tops, but none of them call out to him. Besides, Tony likes his bare chest. 

The next piece is a collar. It’s not something they use every time, not something Bruce will put on for just himself. Today though, Tony told him to pick one out and Bruce is blissed to obey. He loves them, all 8 different ones hanging on gold hooks on the back of the right door, but they are a part of this that connects completely to Tony. The clothes, the panties and stockings and skirts are all gifts from Tony sure, but they are Bruce’s and he’s taken to wearing a few of the items for no other purpose than enjoying the feel of them under his slacks. 

The collars though, those they picked out together. Those he can remember the exact reasons for, the choices Tony brought him to select from. If they ever ended their relationship, Bruce would be able to keep wearing the clothes, or similar clothing. He wouldn’t be able to look at a collar again for a very long time. 

Bruce thinks Tony knows this sometimes, can see the way Bruce shudders when Tony fastens them into place. That something about the deep breaths he takes when one is on tell Tony just how much they matter. It must be why Tony is so selective about when he wants Bruce to wear them, why he takes such gentle care with the buckle. When he wears one, he is Tony’s. All of him, in a way so complete and unending that it can be overwhelming at times. For both of them, he knows. 

He can see it in Tony’s eyes, the way his smile wavers just a bit sometimes, the way his shoulders rise too high on a single harsh breath. It’s a kind of trust he doesn’t always believe he deserves, something he can’t take freely without taking the time to build up to the scene like they are now. And Bruce loves to give it, loves to bare his throat and look up into Tony’s eyes and know he is the best possible person to give it to. 

The nostalgia of the afternoon is sticky in the air, heavy in his throat and limbs. It only takes a moment to grab their oldest one, a deep autumn brown leather, worn a bit in places but cleaned and latched with a polished silver buckle. It’s very different from their others, much simpler, one of two none pastel colored ones and the only one without decorative seams. The inner lining is soft black everywhere but the slightly greyed patch were Bruce’s adams apple rubbed into the material too many times. His fingers tighten around it and he steps back to close the doors. He leaves the key in the latch, turned exactly parallel like Tony had left it. 

Turning back to the closet doors takes a supreme effort, his mind already longing for Tony to direct him. He is almost out of commands to follow and the end of his list means uncertainty. That is the hardest part of sinking for him, allowing Tony to surprise him. For much of their early scenes Tony gave him a road map of what to expect, took time to explain his movements as he got Bruce ready. Which, of course, had been lovely, secure and safe, but it kept him treading water. It kept his nose above the gentle waves when all he wanted was to drown.

It was a hard choice though; for all he knew Hulk would only come out if Tony caused him true harm, he’d still feared the repercussions of a startle. Giving up all control to Tony ment opening himself up to Hulk, too; ment giving up the guard post on his cell and trusting him not to break out without permission. 

Funnily enough, it turned out to be the key to living his life between the two personas. He likes to think he would have eventually come to that conclusion at some point without Tony as an incentive, but that had been the driving force. That choice, asking Tony to not narrate what he did when Bruce couldn’t see him, had opened the door for much more than a deeper subspace. 

He can shift into Hulk on command still, but now it’s not just a ball of rage he keeps caged at all time, but something he asks for, a door he opens. Because of that, he’s come to trust Hulk to only open it when needed, to not just blindly destroy when he does come out. The entire team works better now because of it, Iron Man and Hulk are a force to be reckoned with and Bruce still can’t think of a way to fully express his thankfulness for that. To either Tony or Hulk. 

The bedroom is warmer now, heat kicked on to keep Bruce comfortable while in just his small cotton skirt. The ottoman that usually rests at the food of their bed has been pushed to the center of the room and Bruce flushes at the implication. He hadn’t even heard Tony come in, even though the closet door had been left ajar as he dressed. His grip tightens, harsh, on the collar and he just breathes heavy for a long few minutes. 

They’ve used that ottoman several times; Tony designed it specifically for them. Adjustable legs and reinforced padding allow Bruce to lay, kneel and stand on it for a variety of activities and he shakes at the thought of what Tony might have planned tonight. All of him longs to go sit on the plush grey upholstery, to feel it on his bare legs and hands. Tony didn’t tell him to do that though, gave him instructions that hadn’t even let the ottoman occur to him. 

So, Bruce walks up to it, just close enough to make out the intricate geometric stitch work along the sides and carefully sinks to his knees. It’s not a position he can hold for long, at least not on the thin carpet of their floor, but it goes a long way to settle him into the moment. Tony never makes him wait long when he asks for this pose and Bruce shifts back onto his heels, places his hands and collar in his lap. He spares one more glance at the ottoman before bowing his head and closing his eyes. 

The silence stretches, gets heavy and solid, bearing down on Bruce’s exposed shoulders and neck. The skin feels horribly bear and he can’t keep perfectly still, can’t prevent the flex and relax of the muscles in his back and legs and hips. His cock is hardening, filling with blood and keeping it now that he is so focused on the vision of the ottoman. For all getting ready for Tony gets his blood pumping, he’s old enough now that keeping an erection without any stimulation just isn’t possible and most times he is only partially erect by the time Tony comes inside, if not completely soft. 

It makes him twitch a bit more to think he’ll actually be hard and waiting for Tony this time, makes him gulp to think Tony planned that by pulling the ottoman out. He hopes Tony planned it, wants to know this is the exact picture Tony wanted him to paint. His pretty boy, hard in his soft skirt and just waiting for his collar to be put on. 

Then the door clicks and Bruce gasps, cock jumping as a fresh rush of heat pools in his balls. He can only just keep himself in place, keep his eyes closed and head down as he listens to the pad of Tony’s feet on the carbet. It’s soft, almost too soft to really pinpoint the origin of the noise and Bruce whines faintly. Because barefoot Tony means he’s been sitting in their living room this entire time, that he didn’t come straight from his workshop. 

“Look up at me, beautiful.” Tony says, his voice cutting through the air like a jolt of electricity for all he kept it soft, gentle. A request, not a demand, not yet. 

Bruce takes his time, because he knows Tony loves to watch his eyes open, loves to see him tilt his head back slow to expose his entire neck. It’s hard, so unbelievably difficult to keep the pace even, to not just fling his head back and clench his eyes closed. He wants to hold out his collar, wants to just whine for Tony to please put it on, but he doesn’t. He calls on the soft nostalgia of a few minutes ago and clings to it, far past the point of caring what it means that he is so needy for this man. 

Tony smirks, but it’s not cruel, it’s amused and happy and so fucking stunning. It’s outrageous really, just how beautiful Tony is, standing there in a worn red sweater and dark wash jeans. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows and his hands are resting in his pockets, pulling up the thin cotton to expose the top of his waistband, but none of the tan skin Bruce wants to see. It’s a blatant tease, and Bruce feels himself smile and settle at the fondness he feels for it. His guy is so ridiculous with the details he focus’ on. He’s forgotten an entire car in another country before, but he will take the time to pull and position his sweater before asking Bruce to look. 

“Tony.” Bruce sighs, exhales the name and all his deep seated affection into the room, hopes Tony can feel the warmth of it where he stands only a few feet away. 

“You’re finally wearing that skirt. I was starting to think you didn’t like it.” Tony steps closer then, moves to circle around Bruce and get a good look at the way the fabric pools and splays over his ass and thighs. “Pink is such a lovely color on you, pretty boy.” 

“Never would have guessed you liked it so much.” Bruce replies, basking in the chuckle it earns him. Tony comes to stand right in front of him, close enough that Bruce has to tilt his head nearly all the way back to meet his gaze. It’s delicious, how small and submissive he feels like this, how beautiful and owned. Then Tony’s gaze flicks down to the collar in his hands and Bruce shivers. 

“Oh, honey.” Tony whispers as he lifts a hand to run down the side of Bruce’s face. His gaze stays on Bruce’s lap, and for all he knows Tony is caught up in his choice, it makes his cock thicken more, nearly fully erect at this point. “Feeling sentimental?” 

The question makes Bruce look down too, pushes him to run a finger over the worn inner section. “You were away for almost two weeks. I missed you.”

“Yeah?” The hand on Bruce’s cheek is firm, slips down to get a hold on his jaw and tilt him back up as Tony moves to one knee. They still aren’t eye to eye, but they could kiss easily if Bruce shifted up a little. The water is slowly rising, flowing around Bruce’s shoulders now and he loves Tony so very much. So much more than he ever thought people could love each other. It’s ridiculous, it’s juvenile, and if he could take a moment to stop feeling all this swirling desperate love he would make fun of himself for it. 

He can’t though, he can’t stop feeling it ever. Even when they fight, even when he wants to throw a computer at that stupid annoying asshole Tony likes to be sometimes, he loves him. Wants to buy him flowers and create a portal to take him to every corner of the universe. He wants to kiss him goodnight and goodmorning and make him chicken noodle soup when he is sick. Wants to understand the entire universe just so he can tell Tony all about it, wants to watch Tony create entire new branches of science every second thursday. He wants to make Tony feel like the most precious, most important, arrangement of atoms the universe ever managed. 

Tony kisses him then, chaste but harsh and demanding. Breath stealing. Bruce wants to say thank you, wants to pull back just to say it over and over because this is just what he needs. Tony kissing him and holding his face and just somehow being his too. For a while it’s just that, just Bruce, limp limbed and eyes closed, Tony pressing their lips together too hard, pulling back and doing it again. When he opens his mouth to lick the seam of Bruce’s lips, it doesn’t take anything to open them and let him in. And he was wrong, because this is _actually_ what he wants to say thank you about. The taste of Tony, the feel of his tongue on the roof of Bruce’s mouth and his teeth in the meat of his bottom lip. 

The groan is out and rumbling before Bruce knows he’s the one that made the noise and Tony pulls back. The water’s at his chin now, warm and thick like syrup. 

“I missed you too, god, Bruce. Missed you every minute. Why do you think I called three times a day?” Tony is holding his face in both hands now, pinkies at the bottom of his jaw and thumbs pressing into the tops of his cheek bones. And this is how wonderful Tony is, he holds Bruce’s head for him, takes the weight physically off his shoulders. He knows his smile is too big, too toothy and dopey, but he just beams and beams. 

“I thought it was to check up on my satellite readings.” Bruce murmurs, words starting to slur and catch on his tongue. It makes Tony grin though, so he doesn’t mind it. 

“I can have two motives at once.” That makes Bruce laugh, a rumbly low thing that tickles his own throat a bit and makes Tony press a kiss to his nose, to his forehead. 

“Let’s get your collar on before you get too deep, yeah?” Tony says as he slowly pulls his hands away, giving Bruce the time to keep it upright on his own. He lifts his hands, holds the collar out on his palms so Tony won’t have to go far to get it. Which seems to be the right choice because Tony eyes darken as he says, “good boy.”

The moment between Tony taking the collar and him wrapping the leather around Bruce’s neck last too long. It coils Bruce’s stomach up more and his erection is completely full now, hard and aching dully as it rubs into the silk fabric. 

“You ready to be mine?” Tony asks, just like he always does and just like always Bruce smiles and tilts his head up. He’d tried telling Tony he already was once, saying he always is, completely and utterly. It made something tiny and lost gleem in Tony’s eyes and for all Bruce knows he needs to hear that sometimes, he’s learned when to leave Tony’s edges alone and when to try and mend them. 

He’s so precise in his movements, places the leather against Bruce’s nape with both hands and then drags them over the length of it. His fingertips run along the skin above and below the leather, mark a hot claim that Bruce wishes he could feel every second. When he hits the latch, he presses a palm down hard before turning his hand right into Bruce’s pulse point and holds the metal in place to feed the other side into it. He pulls it too tight for a moment, makes the already intense pressure from his hand turn into too much and Bruce whines high and long. Tony just chuckles as the latch settles and Bruce can breathe freely again. He’s gulping down air though, his throat is expanding too much and the press, the unrelenting, completely surrounding pressure is pure bliss. 

“Tony, please.” A voice begs and the water is all around him now, popping in his ears and making his pulse too loud. He might be 200 feet deep or just under the surface, but he can’t tell and he can’t care. Because this, this is Tony right here. Tony has him, will keep him, wants to hold him tight like this. 

“Oh you pretty thing. You really did miss me.” Tony purrs, his voice clicking over into that pitch that can make Bruce do anything. His hands are moving across Bruce’s skin now, trailing down to his waist and gripping. It takes a long second for the request to translate, for Bruce to recall that he not only has legs, but has been resting on his knees for long enough that they creek as he gets one foot under him. Tony helps, leans down and rubs a hot palm into each knee cap and down the tingling skin over his tibia. 

Bruce almost wants him to continue on to his ankles and feet, too, but then Tony is leading him the tiny steps to the ottoman and it can’t matter. The pinprick feeling will fade and it only means he did a good job listening to Tony, held the perfect position just as long as Tony wanted him to. 

Bruce expects Tony to lay him down, or position him on his hands and knees. Instead, a palm is pressed into his sternum and Tony steps in front of him to sit down first. Looking down is strange, but in a tingly way. Looking up at Tony makes him feel precious, but there is something to be said about being on display like this. Before Tony he never really saw himself as something worth gazing at, not the way Tony deserves in any case. Now though, with their two year anniversary closer than their first, he’s come to trust Tony’s scrutiny. Come to believe Tony likes looking at him and cataloging all the lines and freckles and hairs. 

So, he relaxes, leans his weight on one leg and let’s Tony look all he wants, content to wait hours for Tony’s direction. He’ll like it, always likes everything Tony wants him to do. And yes, much of that comes from a deep seeded desire to please Tony above all else, but Tony knows Bruce intimately, deeply. He never tries something new without long consideration and time determining that Bruce would enjoy it. Early on that full intensity of having a genius brain focused on the best ways to make him feel good and squirm nearly knocked him into next year. It still seems like an unbelievably too expensive and thoughtful gift, a thing he can never repay. The only difference now is that he’s dedicated himself to giving Tony as much of himself in return as he can. 

“Sit down in my lap.” Tony says suddenly and Bruce obeys before his brain gets back into the present moment. The water’s surface is closer now and he doesn’t want the fresh air that promises, wants to go back down down down, where not even the sun can reach him. 

Tony’s jeans are a rough scratch on his exposed skin, a harsh pressure against the bottom of his already tight balls. He knew Tony hadn’t planned a long scene for tonight when he didn’t bring up a cock ring, but a part of him still feels bad for how little it’s going to take. Hands travel up either of his thighs, stop at the hem of the skirt and trace the line of it with both thumbs. The dual sensation is both grounding and startling and Bruce gets one arm over Tony’s shoulder to grip his back, presses his other hand into the top of Tony’s left shoulder. 

“You know what I like best about the outfit you picked today?” Tony asks him once he’s finished thoroughly exploring the difference between the cotton and Bruce’s skin. Bruce only shakes his head, trying to keep his hips still as they ache to press into the wonderful heat so close to his cock.

“You left that perfect chest bare for me.” Tony replies darkly, tongue darting out to wet his lips and Bruce gives in for a second. He rocks down once, twice, a third time into the hard line of Tony’s lower stomach before stilling and panting. Tony, for his part, just lets him, keeps his hands resting where they want and let’s Bruce still himself before continuing. “You want me to play with your tits baby? You’re so needy for it you couldn’t help but leave them out in the open, could you?”

That’s not playing fair, but Tony never does with him and Bruce does everything short of demand Tony play as dirty as he wants. To call Bruce names and push him down and make him feel how much Tony wants him, how hungry Tony is for the taste of his skin. When he shifts this time, Tony guides him closer, presses up with his own hips and god, those jeans must feel like torture with how hot and hard Tony is right now. 

“I will, oh baby, you know how much I love your tits.” Is all Tony says before hunching down just the smallest amount to bite Bruce’s left nipple. It jolts, stings and burns, but Tony is pulling him closer again and the pressure is so good he can’t think about anything past the pleasure. The soothing lick Tony gives next is both better and so much worse and Bruce has a hand in Tony’s hair now, messing it up and brushing up against the grain. 

“That’s it, hold onto me.” Tony murmurs against the sensitive skin, the warm air of his breath blowing too harsh against it. Bruce, well, all he can do is obey, twine his fingers into the dark hairs and try not to pull too hard, not to take any control from Tony. Focusing on keeping his hands gentle but firm enough to be steadying is almost enough to keep his mind from completely leaving the building. 

Tony’s mouth is so good at this though, wet and hot and with a tongue so talented it feels like he built it himself just to do this to Bruce. It shouldn’t be so good, shouldn’t be nearly enough to get him off by itself, but fuck it is. His body is a live wire and Tony is too conductive for his own good, sparking it over and over and over again. It jolts down his arms, makes his toes tingle, ties elaborate knots in his stomach. He can barely breathe anymore, can’t feel or know anything other than the finger pinching his right nipple as the other is sucked so hard he’s going to bruise. 

“Tony, more. Please, more.” He asks, with absolutely zero idea of what more could even be, how on earth more could even exist. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony is panting, huffing out as he bites into the skin of Bruce’s collar bone. His hand has stilled, still framing Bruce’s nipple with the knuckles of his pointer and middle fingers. It clears some of the haze in Bruce’s eyes, allows him to flutter them open and take in the world once more. 

Tony’s pants are open, unzipped and pulled open enough that Tony has his dick out and is holding it with his free hand. Bruce can’t recall when it left his own thigh, when he’d started shoving his own hips into the knuckles of Tony’s hand as he jerked himself off. The pause in the rocking rhythm is jarring though, the pulsing of his dick is clear as anything and he squirms closer to get pressure back on it. 

“Fuck, you are so fucking hot when you get lost like that.” Tony grunts, hand spasming in one swift jerk before he stills himself again. He looks up at Bruce, winds his free arm around his boyfriend’s back to scratch into the skin between his shoulder blades. “You just go somewhere, and let me have you. Let me do whatever I want and you don’t care, _god_.”

“Please.” Bruce manages and his voice is so soft, so much higher and crackling than it’s been in decades. Tony moans, throws his head back, taking Bruce’s hands with it. His arms are pulled forward and his chest knocks into Tony’s shoulder because he can’t stop holding onto Tony, he has to hold on to him. Tony wants him to hold on. 

“I got you. Fuck, I need to be inside you.” Tony tells him, but Bruce is too busy standing up at Tony’s insistent manhandling to understand it. His feet are unsure, his legs too liquid to really keep himself upright, but that’s alright because Tony is standing too and keeps that arm around Bruce’s waist. His other hand is reaching up to gently pull Bruce’s fingers from his hair. “You can let go baby, I want you to lay down now.” 

Somehow they get turned around enough for Bruce to sit down in Tony’s place. His hands feel cold now, but Tony’s eyes are so warm and his cock is so hot and wet already, jutting up into his soft red sweater. Bruce loves him so much, just has to hum and sigh at the sight of him positioned higher than Bruce. It’s the way he should always be, always bigger and brighter and the very center of every universe at once. 

“Lay back and get your hands on the grips.” Tony tells him, stepping back to pull his sweater off. The arc reactor is bright in his chest, out and on display in all its entirety. There is no pause in exposing it anymore and the significance of his casual disregard for being that bare is not lost. 

Bruce doesn’t see him finish undressing, head too heavy to keep upright while he rests back along the length of the ottoman, his knees are bent over the far side, far enough out that it will just take a pull of his hips to get his ass resting on the edge of it. He can hear Tony bending down and opening a drawer along the side, focuses on the heavy breathing and rummaging noise as he lifts his arms over his head. The grips are tucked into the bottom seam where the upholstery meets the black metal base and Bruce has done this so many times, it takes no thought to hook a finger in each and pull them out. He stretches just a bit until his wrists are resting inside the loops. 

A breath, the sound of the drawer closing and the shape of Tony walking to Bruce’s left. Then, a click and the grips pull tight, plush lining pushing into the space right past Bruce’s palms. His hands are further apart than Tony usually locks them, almost to the point where his elbows are a perfect 45 degree angle to his shoulders. He flexes his fingers, digs the back of his hand into the cool mettle before letting them rest, limply dangle over the side. This is another thing they only do for shorter scenes, the awkward feeling of his dangling limbs is something Bruce loves. He would do it every time if Tony didn’t worry about the blood rush, about the strain on keeping his shoulders extended so much. Usually they keep his wrists in front of him if they are bound, placed for Tony to use them as a hand hold in missionary position or for Bruce to rest his forehead on when he’s taken from behind. 

He’s glad Tony wants him on his back this time, glad he gets to see Tony’s face when he comes. Inside. His hips buck up of their own accord at the thought and he hears Tony hush him as he moves back between Bruce’s legs. The tug comes, just like Bruce knew it would and it pulls his wrists just a bit, stretches his arms only enough that he can’t stop thinking about the pressure of it. Tony built this bench for him, exactly to his height and weight and preferences and the perfect fit makes him cry out again. 

“I’m gonna take you rough.” Tony hisses thought his teeth and Bruce can hear the wet slap of Tony giving himself a few quick jerks again. Then the world shifts a little and the faint whirling of machinery kicks on. The ceiling comes closer and Bruce’s feet lift off the ground as Tony grips the side of his knees and spreads them to either corner. 

There are hands on the waistband of his skirt, quick fingers digging underneath it for a second only to move to the bottom hem and toss it up over his stomach and part of his chest. It’s not long enough to hit his nipples, which after the attention they got feels a little like a blessing. It takes a moment for Bruce to queue into the stillness of the room, to think past how damp his panties have gotten, how intense the fresh air feels against his demanding erection. 

He gulps in some air and lifts his head, swallows as the collar bites into his neck and under his chin. Tony is just standing, naked with a bottle of lube in one hand and the other in his own hair. He is looking at Bruce’s crotch, intently, but also with a distressing softness to his eyes. He’s breathing slowly, measured, and if it weren’t for that far away quality of the gaze Bruce would think he is trying to calm down to make the event last longer for them both. 

“Tony?” He manages, clearing his throat against the heavy pressure of the latch against his adam’s apple first. It’s enough though, snaps those big brown eyes back up to meet his. They are a little wet, a little wild and so full of love Bruce can’t doing anything at all. 

“You were feeling nostalgic.” Tony says softly, voice tiny and fragile and exclusively for Bruce’s ears. He remembers then, tilts his hips to feel the tiny silk bows that no longer rest perfectly against his hip bones. “Really just missing me?”

Bruce nods, feels his eyes start to sting. They brim over quick, half from the shame of crying over something so simple and half from how happy Tony sounds at the idea. How glad he is to know that Bruce missed him this badly from only three weeks apart. Tony’s been back for two days now too, long enough for his voice to be echoing around every wall again. Long enough for Bruce to feel his arms around him even when he’s across the room. 

It’s been longer for this though. Too many villains at once, a crisis at S.I., nights spent alternating sleeping schedules and days with both of them too busy to do more than kiss hello. Bruce knew he craved it, but after a month a half without a full scene the intensity of it hit new levels. This is how he shows Tony how much he loves him, how much he trusts him, how he sees the intensity of Tony’s care for him. They talk and cuddle and say I love you after phone calls most times these days, but it can’t make up for this. 

Tony is suddenly over him, knees on either side of Bruce’s waist and palms pressing into the fabric on either side of Bruce’s head. “Don’t cry, beautiful. I’ve got you.” 

Bruce blinks, desperately, tries to listen because he is a grown man and he doesn’t need to cry about not having sex a certain way. Tony catches his chin when he tries to look away. “It’s not silly, Bruce. I missed you too.”

Tony says his name like it’s a delicate thing, like he filled it up with as much awe as ‘beautiful’ or ‘pretty boy’ or ‘mine’ and it aches somewhere deep. Fills his chest up too much, overflows and soothes and hundreds upon thousands of other things that leave him unable to do anything at all but open his mouth and silently beg Tony to come closer. 

He does, of course he does, because he is perfect and knows Bruce so well and wants to know him even more and Bruce love hims so much. Could crush both of them under the weight of how much he loves this man, how much he loves the feel of his lips and his tongue and teeth. Tony kisses his mouth for ages, sucks into the underside of his jaw and his neck. Bites down on his collar bone and the top of one pectoral, sucks both nipples quickly, fleetingly. His pace gets frantic as he moves down more, slips off the ottoman to drag his mouth across both of Bruce’s hip bones, into the skin above his cock and over to one thigh before the other. The kisses are sucking, harsh and owning and if Tony weren’t jumping so quickly from one place to another he’d have a trail of bruises in his wake. 

Then there are hands twisting into the sides of his panties, bunching the fabric up harshly into his cock and mashing the little bows into his skin. They are yanked off without preamble, pulling Bruce’s knees back together for only long enough to get them off and tossed over Tony’s shoulder. Later Bruce will find that funny, that the very things that got Tony so frantic would be discarded so hastily, but now. Now he is just a series of sensation, firing nerve endings and an overproduction of hormones. 

“Open, keep them open.” Tony barks out, hands pressing into Bruce’s thighs just long enough to get both knees hooked over either corner of the ottoman. The touch to his cock nearly sets him on fire, nearly opens up a crack in space and time with the utter blinding shock of it. It only last for a moment, only long enough for Tony to get the taste of his precum in his mouth and then it’s gone. He can’t miss it though because that mouth is on his balls now, sucking one into it and rolling it with the flat press of a tongue. Something is letting out a series of grunts and wavering sighing noises, but that can’t matter. He can’t think of that at all, not when the sound of Tony popping his mouth off his ball is so loud. Certainly not when those talented, calloused hands are gripping into the meat of his ass cheeks and yanking them open. The air of the room is warm, he knows the exact temperature Tony set’s it at for these scenes, but it feels like ice water on his hole. 

“You did so good pretty boy, cleaned up so perfect for me.” Tony tells him like the words punched their way out all on their own. Bruce sinks into the praise all the same, let’s his face heat at the memory of breaching himself in the shower, of holding the shower head between his legs to rinse. He didn’t know if Tony planed to do more than finger him, but when Tony asks him to be thorough he always listens. It feels outrageously worth the effort with Tony’s next words. “I gotta taste you.”

Tony doesn’t give him any time to brace for it, just goes right in with a long hard drag of his tongue along the entire line of his crack. It’s so much, too much, more than he can handle and he nearly clamps his legs together on reflex. The sharp jut of the ottoman’s corner scratches on the underside of his knee and gives him just enough sense of mind to clench down into the plush cushion under his thighs. Tony doesn’t so much as flinch, continues to lave the skin around his hole, saliva cooling for a moment before he dives back in. 

It’s driving Bruce mad, the friction around the muscle, and he can feel it opening, slackening just a bit in a desperate plead for more. Tony is good to his words earlier, and it’s only just as Bruce opens his mouth to beg that Tony’s tongue presses in. It’s harsh, fast, his tongue firm and unrelenting as he pushes Bruce open and that is–

He scrambles into the air with his fingers, fails to hook them back enough to grab anything more than the faint line of the metallic base. His legs tense, knees bending so suddenly the heel of one foot bangs a loud sound into the bench. How he keeps his thighs spread is unknown, completely impossible and not really worth considering as Tony starts to fuck his tongue in and out. Everything narrows down to just that feeling, just the points where Tony’s fingers press bruises into his ass and the wet insistent drag in and out of his body, carving into him with insistence. 

It goes on for the rest of his life, lasts and lasts to the point where Bruce thinks he no longer exists at all. The water is so deep, the surface so far away he can feel the rocks at the bottom of the pool against his feet. His body continues on without his mind, clenching and squirming, making words and sounds with his mouth. And Tony commands it all, makes the breathing harsher by ramming a lube slicked finger in alongside his tongue. He arches Bruce’s back by hooking the finger back against his prostate, by rubbing firm circles into the cluster of nerves like he needs to find a way inside of that too. 

At some point Tony takes his tongue out, adds two more fingers. Bruce’s rim is relaxed and stretched and clenching down on the fingers relentlessly. Tony twists and scissors and it could be soft or it could be hard and Bruce wouldn’t be able to say which. It’s just a part of his existence now, just the very thing that makes his heart beat. The blood rushes in his head, his ear drums rattle in time with the vibration of Tony’s voice and certainly the data is transmitted to his brain, recognized and sorted to mean something. Memories pull up and context filters in his peripheral and he knows distantly that Tony is calling him things, praising him and thanking him for being so open, for being so giving. 

He smiles, smiles and smiles, everytime the pleasure gets to be too much and he cries out and closes his eyes against the near pain of it, he settles back into a smile. It’s the only thing he can manage, his thighs have to stay open and he has to make sure Tony knows how wonderful he feels, how happy he is right here, laid out and positioned exactly right. He needs Tony to keep that look of wild abandon on his face, needs to keep him thrusting deeply into Bruce, balls hitting the underside of his ass as Tony bottoms out.

“Bruce, god. You are so, you are so lost on it baby. You just, god, you just let me have it all. So good, so wonderfully good. So beautiful and lovely. I love you so much. I am going crazy with it, you drive me completely crazy.”

He is thrusting so hard, so fast and punishing and it’s amazing. Exactly what Bruce longed for while his love was away, while he stood naked in the closet looking at all the lovely things Tony bought him. And he feels beautiful now, feels as small and open wide as that night Tony first kissed him. The line of his life is curved and ragged and winding over itself, but it also runs through both these moments. Connects up with the line of Tony’s and something about it must have been planned from the start. Some part of Bruce had to be stuck in Tony, a beacon for him to come home to, calling out to the piece of Tony Bruce has lodged in his chest. 

Tony is barely talking now, voice hoarse and cracking before any of the words can form, hair stuck to his forehead and eyes screwed up in what could very well be agony. Somehow, he is exactly as beautiful like this as he is dressed to the nines, hand on Bruce’s back as he calls Bruce his partner to everyone he can get to stop and talk to them. 

Something in this, the way he takes and takes, loses anything but the chase to climax makes Bruce feels as loved, as distressingly cherished as being asked to pick the paint for their shared bedroom. Tony clenches too hard into his waist, presses in so hard his hip bones dig into the flesh of Bruce’s ass, scrambles to get a hand around Bruce’s near purple erection and it’s all more lovely than a hand written poem. It’s a box of terrible chocolates on valentines day, it’s getting ignored until Tony gets a good half cup of coffee into his system and looks at Bruce like he’s surprised and delighted to see him still sitting at the kitchen table. 

It’s breath stealing, it’s an inferno burning up the entire world and Bruce is arching off the table, thrusting back into Tony with everything he can give. He desperately tries to clench down, to make Tony see the stars bursting across Bruce’s own vision. They are beautiful and Tony is beautiful and Bruce loves him far too much. 

It’s not until Tony pulls out that Bruce even realizes they stopped moving, that he missed seeing Tony orgasm. It’s disappointing, but his body is too filled up with cotton for the feeling to gain much traction. The bottom of the pool is still bumping up against his feet, but he can see the light refracting in the water again, can make out Tony’s hands as they run along his legs. He hooks a palm under each knee, lifts them up and back together before laying them back down so his feet hit the floor. He never heard the gears lower the ottoman back down, but isn’t surprised Tony took care to keep his limbs from dangling too long. 

There is a stretch of time between the feel of carpet on his feet and Tony’s hands gently landing on his chest. They rest there, palms flat against either side of his sternum and Bruce focuses on each divot and curve of them. He follows the specific calluses as they run and catch on his skin when Tony slowly moves to his shoulder. His pressure is firm, sturdy, fingers kneading down just a bit to encourage more blood flow. One hand pulls back just long enough to flick the grasps loose again, but is back to catch his wrist before they can react to the drop in pressure. He slowly lifts them, thumbs lingering in the pulse points. It takes a while, but eventually he moves them to resting on either side of Bruce’s waist, palms down and shoulders relaxed. There is only a little tingling and Bruce opens his eyes to smile at Tony in thanks. 

They look at each other, just gazing with no point of contact between them and Bruce feels completely covered in Tony. He soaks it up, breathes it in deeply and let’s the water level lower a bit more. 

“I’ll be only a moment, my love.” Tony promises, secures it with a gentle pass of his fingers across Bruce’s cheek bone. A nod is all Bruce can manage, not quite ready to start talking again and turns his head to watch Tony’s back move to the bathroom door. He leaves it open, wide enough that Bruce can watch every muscle shift as he dampens a set of rags in a wide green bowl. The rags are red and Bruce is grinning enough to feel the dried tear tracks crack on his cheeks. They won’t be there much longer though, so he doesn’t worry about what it means. Just meets Tony’s eyes as he comes back to him, greedily savors the proud little smile Tony gives him when he gestures to the bowl. 

“It’s my favorite color.” Tony tells him, like he always does.

“I know it’s really red.” Bruce replies, the repetition of so many of their conversations familiar enough to make the words easy. Tony glares, but he stands a little straighter, always so proud when he can get Bruce verbal again. 

The rags are warm, almost hot, but it’s a good bite. By the time Tony is done rubbing him down Bruce can feel the faint ache in his shoulders and lower back. His blinking is more steady now and it won’t be long now before he is back over the surface; he can see the air bubbles scattering up and bursting just over his head. It makes it easy to sit up, clench the muscles of his back and neck as Tony steadys a palm on his right shoulder. Standing up is a little harder, but it usually is and Tony takes his time with it, stays close. 

He’s a little over warm when Tony bends down to run the last rag between his cheeks and no matter how gentle Tony tries to be over his hole it aches. It’s going to be sore soon, already feels rubbed a little raw and looser than it’s been in weeks. Tony doesn’t comment on the extra flush to his chest and neck, but his smile is a bit wider, a bit more indulgent. 

Tony already wiped himself off in the bathroom, so he sets the bowl of water on the ottoman and gets both arms around Bruce. It’s the best part of the aftercare, this moment when they are both still naked and only just cleaned enough to prevent a lengthy bath before bed. The press of Tony’s chest into his, the arc reactor firmly against his sternum, settles him. He stops shaking, not sure when he started, and winds both arms completely around Tony’s waist. The skin of his neck is warm when Bruce runs his nose along it and the smell of him is so rich right here. It’s easy to get a taste, to press a lingering open mouth kiss there. 

“You did so wonderfully. I haven’t seen you that deep in a long time.” Tony whispers into Bruce’s temple, lips moving softly against the short hairs there. It makes him giggle, a catching little thing that makes Tony shift as it puffs air into the wet spot Bruce left on his neck. 

“It was so easy.” Bruce tell him, sighs long and heavy into the room and Tony tightens his arms impossibly more for just a moment. Then he steps back, hands still both on some point of Bruce and silently moves them towards the bed. The skirt is discarded back by the ottoman and maybe tomorrow Bruce will puzzle out when exactly that came off. His body is starting to sag now though, his eyelids heavy in a more instant way. 

Tony murmurs more to him, some reassurance and praise, some ramblings about the things he will want to work on tomorrow. His arms are wrapped around Bruce, his face tucked into Bruce’s chest and legs splayed to cover more of him than not. The world is warm, the vibrations of Tony’s quiet voice soft and predictable. The ache in his bones is still faint, pulsing softly in some places and Bruce is happy.

“I love you.” He says, runs his own arm up to lay over Tony’s back and closes his eyes.


End file.
